


Nightmare

by sshysmm



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Babysitting, Drugs, Drugs Made Them Do It, Gen, Harm to Animals, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, no cats were permanently harmed, no one dies, the band Au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21544576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshysmm/pseuds/sshysmm
Summary: Her husband is in London, her mother-in-law is away, so Mariotta Crawford is left holding baby, cat and teenager. The first two she can handle, the latter is the intimidatingly cool private school graduate Joleta Reid Malett. A fun girly evening goes quite wrong, quite predictably.
Relationships: Mariotta Crawford/Richard Crawford
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5
Collections: Lymond fics set in the Band/'80s AU





	Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sirjohnsmythe (veneratedthrouple)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veneratedthrouple/gifts).



> From a prompt 'nightmare' sent by [sirjohnsmythe](https://sirjohnsmythe.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. I decided to go with Joleta being a metaphorical nightmare, rather than simply having one (though that said, actual nightmare fic might be on the cards too...)

"Well, Kevin's asleep!" Mariotta rubbed her hands together nervously, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. A teenage girl was sitting at the glass-topped laminate breakfast bar, idly clicking the play/stop buttons on her Walkman. She wore a bored pout and swung her feet under the stool, making the legs of the chair squeak as they moved against the stone-tiled floor.

Why did the presence of this girl make Mariotta afraid to go into her own kitchen? There was an insouciant coolness about her: she wore the latest fashions, the in-colours of eyeshadow and lipstick, the perfectly wavy perm that all the glamour magazines were raving about. Her hair was apricot-gold, her dark-outlined eyes a haughty, chill blue, and Joleta Malett made Mariotta feel self-conscious and old, even at twenty-four.

"Is there anything you'd like to do?" she asked, and winced at the high-pitched squeak of her own voice.

Joleta looked up but did not stop clicking the buttons or swinging her feet. She shrugged.

Mariotta glanced at the bottle of rosé she'd left out on the side and made a break for it, striding across the floor with a semblance of purpose. She had been cool too, once. She could handle this. She opened the bottle with forced confidence and poured a messy glass.

Turning, she noted the girl's new interest. Mariotta raised the glass to her lips and drank, feeling the sweet liquid sting against her teeth. As she did Joleta watched her, sitting up a little from her slouch to peer at the bulbous bottle of the Matheus.

"Do you drink wine?" Mariotta asked her. It was allowed in pubs, with a meal, from fourteen. Why shouldn't this sophisticated little graduate of Swiss finishing school enjoy a glass of sophisticated Portuguese alcohol?

Joleta's perfect cherubic lips mustered a smile. Her round cheeks, lightly freckled below the dusting of blusher, rose with the corners of her mouth. "I love wine," she stopped kicking her feet and straightened her shoulders. The Walkman disappeared into the pocket of the jacket slung over her chair back and she became the picture of refinement.

Pleased that she had achieved this level of engagement, Mariotta took a second glass from the cupboard and carried it and the bottle over to Joleta. "Cheers! Here's to your first album!"

Joleta's surprisingly small hand stretched around the bowl of the glass and her smirk turned roguish.

"Actually I've played on my brother's albums before. I didn't get credited because apparently it would have been complicated with my age, but I know what I'm doing better than some of the guys."

Settling on a stool opposite her, Mariotta blinked over the top of the glass poised at her mouth. "Is that so?"

She did not know that this was the first time such a willing audience had presented itself to Joleta since she'd arrived back in the UK. No one was impressed by teenage prodigies at Flaw Valleys, and they wanted to talk about harpsichords and clavicytheriums rather than synths and bass pedals. The men at St Mary's were equally nonplussed - Joleta suspected many of them didn't even believe her, despite the way she played.

So she began to talk about tracks and ratios at a clip that soon left Mariotta reeling, but Joleta was personable and charming and gave good cues for Mariotta to laugh in all the right places or raise her eyebrows enquiringly. She hadn't drunk much since Kevin's birth - any more than a single glass was really just for birthdays and holidays - so the alcohol rushed to her head quickly, leaving her neck warm and her head light.

The Matheus didn't last long. Joleta grew more expansive as the wine disappeared, her talk finally winding its way to fashion and bands that Mariotta knew well enough to discuss with her. Mariotta's hand, placed at a friendly closeness to Joleta's on the glass surface, tapped suddenly as Joleta spoke, rattling her silver bangles against the top. "Oh! Oh that reminds me, let me show you this!"

Mariotta, speeding from the responsibilities of her day to day life, bounded from the table and paused in the kitchen doorway. "Wait! There's a bottle of Lambrusco in there as well, do you want to open it?"

Joleta popped herself off the stool and made her own way to the fridge as indicated, striding with exaggerated dancer's steps. Mariotta giggled and ran upstairs to retrieve the memento she had recalled. She kept it in a box beneath the bed she shared with Richard: memories of a life that she had chosen to leave behind, but that she felt should be preserved, as though it kept the girl she had been then alive, still partying on O'Connell Street, still dreaming of her own fashion line or art gallery.

When she returned Joleta handed her a rather full glass and they clinked the drinks together. "Sláinte!" Mariotta grinned. "You can add that to the languages you know it in already!"

"Prost! Santé! Salute! Skål! Kan-pie! Na zdorovie!" Joleta chanted with a sparkling laugh. "Sláinte," she inclined her head and drank.

Mariotta took a bigger gulp than intended on a surprised gasp at the number of languages the girl came out with, and had to cough and bang her fist against her chest. "Mary, mother of God. Ok, I went to get this to show you." She put the photo album down on the counter and flipped past pages of her childhood. "Here we go!"

With an unfiltered, goofy grin, Mariotta turned the photo album towards Joleta, who tucked her apricot hair behind an ear to peer closely at it.

The photo had been taken with black and white film. Mariotta was a dark-haired slip of a thing, a Morrigan in sequined tank top, the same slightly daft, excited grin on her face, though the image was eight years old. She was surrounded by tousled party-goers and cheerful smiles, her thin shoulders hugged close under the arm of a very recognisable man: leather-jacketed, mop-haired.

"Is that _Bono_?" Joleta squeaked. Her eyes went very round, her face turned very pink, and Mariotta laughed delightedly.

"Yeah! I went with some schoolmates, saw them when they were just starting out. The craic that night was great, we stayed all night in McDaid's. It was the world's tiniest lock-in."

Joleta looked at the photo and then again at Mariotta. She picked up her wine and took a large gulp and finally intoned: "That is so amazing. Tell me all about it!"

They moved through to the sitting room, wine and photo album and all. Sybilla's Maine Coon cat, the luxuriously furred tabby Masterly, was displaced from the couch with no sentimentality. He regarded the two women laughing on his bed with a disgusted twitch of his ears and flick of his tail, and retreated to the armchair by the gas fireplace.

As the night wore on, Mariotta could not have said at what point the reminiscences turned into re-enactment - she did know that the vodka was hers and the cocaine was Joleta's.

It wasn't clear whether the fact of the latter had ever actually been a surprise. There was no evidence of drugs in the photos Mariotta showed the girl - just parties of fashionable Dubs and St Andrews undergrads, but Mariotta must have carelessly mentioned coke in one of her tales, eager for the younger woman's approval. Joleta simply returned from the kitchen at some point with her coat in hand, rummaging in a pocket. She cut the lines on the coffee table with practiced expertise using a pre-paid phone card, and Mariotta poured two shots of vodka and nodded with equanimity.

The conversation took whatever turns it took: bands, lead singers, tight trousers, right through, in logical enough fashion, to Mariotta's tight-trousered, lead-singing brother-in-law. Lymond was laid out before them like a centre-fold in a pop magazine, appraised from his thin, muscular legs up to the perfect wave of his hair when he tossed it from his eyes to gaze, piercing blue, at his audience.

It was a topic to keep them occupied for hours. When Mariotta finally slumped, fully-clothed, on top of her bedcovers, photo album clutched beneath her, she enjoyed very little actual sleep. It felt like mere moments after she had rubbed her face contentedly in a pillow smelling of Richard when she was woken by a hiss and a yowl.

"Ah, Masterly, _no_ ," she groaned. "You can wait!"

"Mam! MAM!"

That was Kevin. That couldn't wait.

"Oh _fuck_ ," Mariotta said feelingly - and quietly - as she struggled to the edge of the bed. "What is it, sweetheart?"

She pressed her fingertips into her scalp and tried to listen past the roaring, thumping pulse inside her skull. Beyond the room there was definitely something else making a thudding sound of its own: a hollow, repetitive hammering on stairs and carpeted floors. The cat yowled again.

"Mam look at Masterly!"

Her tired legs took her in an unsteady path to the bedroom door and she squinted at the corridor. Kevin was standing at the stair gate on the landing of the second floor, fists wrapped around the bars like a tiny prisoner as he stared down the staircase.

"Look look look Mam, here he comes again!" Kevin shrieked, and Mariotta ground her teeth and clutched her head.

The thundering of feet grew louder, and sure enough the cat soon appeared on his way up from the ground floor, moving faster than Mariotta had ever seen him. He ran with his claws out, catching and ripping at the carpet pile as he went, splintering the surface of the skirting board when he decided to proceed along the landing on his side, his paws pulling him along the wall. Mariotta bent sluggishly to catch him and he howled with rage, springing away from her grasp, rattling between the legs of a plant stand so that the aspidistra atop quivered, and drubbing the surface of the stairs with his galloping paws all the way up to Kevin at the top. Behind the stair gate, Kevin screamed again: Masterly screamed back, turned around, and ran all the way back downstairs again.

"Oh my sweet Christ," Mariotta muttered.

She smoothed her clothes, reached inside the room for a bottle of perfume and doused herself liberally in it. She ran a brush through her hair and picked up her sunglasses.

"Kevin, give your Mam one second to catch Masterly, then I'll pop up and we'll sort your breakfast, ok?"

"NO," Kevin tugged at the stair gate. "I wanna play!"

"No child, he's not a happy kitty, I don't think he wants to play with you this morning."

Mariotta tottered down to the ground floor with a firm grip on the bannister, letting Kevin's predicted objections wash over her throbbing head.

The sitting room was remarkably tidy, considering the grimy, unwashed feeling in Mariotta's head, mouth and stomach. One half-drunk bottle of vodka, stuck to the coffee table with its own spillings, two empty glasses, similarly sticky. Barely any white powder at all.

With a feral growl, Masterly shot out from under a chair, hurtling past Mariotta's legs so close his fur brushed her calves. The shock of it made her scream, though she was immediately annoyed with herself for having done so.

Summoned by the sound, Joleta plodded out of the ground floor study, where the sofa bed was kept. She rubbed her eyes ostentatiously and yawned, and Mariotta didn't find it that convincing.

"Morning. What's up?"

Mariotta put her hands on her hips. "Did you give the cat cocaine?"

"What?!" Joleta laughed despite herself.

"Did you give the cat cocaine?" Mariotta repeated in the tone of voice she'd normally reserve for Kevin if he had drawn on the wallpaper with marker pen.

Joleta blinked. Maybe she was surprised that her pal from the night before was now acting like a grown-up in charge of her. But she shrugged and folded her arms and answered. "No. I might not have cleaned it up that well..."

Mariotta scoffed, but she was grateful for the honesty, and let a sympathetic smirk show through. "Come on, come and help me catch that bloody cat."

With the aid of a full double duvet and a willingness to suffer carpet-burned knees, they managed to get Masterly into his travel cage with minimal blood loss. He wailed his displeasure and tried to chew the bars; he batted at his surroundings with huge fluffy paws and hissed at his own tail. The two women stood staring down at the cage and it was Mariotta's turn to shrug at Joleta. "He'll probably be ok? If he'd OD'ed we'd already know about it, right?"

The teenager crouched to peer at the cat, her expression lit by morbid fascination. "I suppose so. Are you just going to leave him in there?"

"No, Sybilla's back this weekend, I'll not risk it. I'll call a taxi to the vet." Abruptly, Mariotta folded her arms and looked down at Joleta. "Can I trust you, just this morning, to look after Kevin?"

Joleta blinked up at her. She seemed tired at last, shadows under her eyes forming in response to the unforgiving morning light. Her make-up was smudged on her cheeks and her permed hair looked brittle and tatty. She had changed into a baggy, long-sleeved nightshirt printed with the slogan _I need all the friends I can get_ , and, incongruously to Mariotta's tortured brain, a picture of Snoopy and Woodstock.

Mariotta dropped her face into one hand. "I cannot believe I am asking this. Joleta, please will you babysit Kevin for me while I take the cat that has ingested cocaine to the vet? Will you please reassure me you will look after my son and not let him have any hard drugs?"

"The coke is finished," Joleta murmured a little dreamily.

Mariotta stared back, suddenly disgusted at herself for ever having been nervous of this child's opinion. "Good. I'm going to get Kevin's breakfast ready, then go up and get him, and by the time we're down in the kitchen, you'll have tidied up these glasses and put the vodka in the freezer, and wiped that table down _properly_ , is that right?"

The girl blanched and looked like she wanted to object: public school entitlement was at war with public school discipline. Still, while she might never have had to clean her living area on a regular basis, she would certainly know how to hide evidence after a party, and she'd know how to do it better than it had been done last night. After a moment in which defiance subsided into a sulky resignation, Joleta decided she did respect Mariotta enough to listen, and she nodded as she stood.

When the taxi arrived the sitting room was spotless. Masterly had reduced his complaints to a revving growl that only escalated when his cage was moved, Kevin had been fed and most of the cereal had gone inside him or been caught by his bib. Exhaustion made Mariotta desperate and thorough: her ruthless impatience drove Joleta to obedience.

Mariotta stepped from the door, cat cage in one hand, chilled Irn Bru in the other, sunglasses firmly shielding her from the white light outside. Joleta lifted Kevin up to the big bay window of the study so he could wave at the taxi, and she told him they would watch a film together, which Kevin was very pleased about.

The veterinary nurses tutted; the vet herself simply pulled on a pair of thick gloves and gave Mariotta a disgusted look. Masterly was examined - carefully, through bars - a blood sample was taken - also through bars - and he was admitted to have the drug flushed from his system. Free of the yowling creature, free of the smell of disinfectant and warm lino, Mariotta decided to savour the fresh air and walk back to the house on Drumsheugh.

Despite the night's absurdity, Mariotta felt oddly proud of herself. The morning madness had called for leadership, for an adult who could sort things out and who knew what needed to be done. Mariotta had indeed sorted the mess out and got the important things done. She felt authoritative and confident. She would return home to find a clean house, a happy child, and a _tired_ , well-behaved teenager, meek and apologetic, grateful for Mariotta's trust. The three of them might enjoy another movie together! Joleta's brother would be in touch later to pick her up, and Richard would phone in the afternoon like he always did. The day might actually be salvaged into a pretty good one, all things considered.

The house was dark and quiet, warm like a nest, all curtains drawn. Mariotta didn't know why, but she felt the lack of Masterly immediately, and shut the front door with a pang of guilt. In the sitting room, she could hear the TV, and she tip-toed across the lino floor to peer in on the children.

Joleta sat with her knees curled up beneath her, and her duvet slung over her shoulders. Kevin was curled under her arm, fast asleep against her body. It was only as Mariotta took in the wider surroundings that this peaceful picture began to give her doubts. For one, Joleta did not have a cup of tea to soothe her headache, rather she was holding a bottle of lager, its label distressed and picked at, peelings scattered across the coffee table. The second troubling thing was the movie: one Kevin had requested to watch many times, and each time found it too frightening to continue.

Mariotta had spent more nights than she cared to count soothing a sobbing toddler who did not understand why the minotaur in _Time Bandits_ had to die at the hands of a man who reminded Kevin of his father. That the boy in the film shared her son's name always made it exponentially more terrifying for him, but periodically this was forgotten and Kevin would beg to watch his namesake's adventures again.

Now the film hurtled towards its denouement while the child slept on peacefully, which implied a series of events Mariotta simply could not comprehend.

Joleta turned and smiled up at her with the same innocuous, pastel-tinted glow Mariotta remembered from the previous evening. She wore her hangover lightly now, youth - and that hair of the dog she'd helped herself to - giving her an advantage. "How is the cat?"

Mariotta folded her arms. "He'll be grand. Where did you find that, then?"

"Oh, I saw them in the fridge last night when I got the Lambrusco out," she said blithely, taking a sip. "There's lots left, I only had a couple."

"And I see you've been watching _Time Bandits_?" Mariotta's voice was rising in pitch despite her best efforts. Better to ignore the previous response for now.

The girl grinned and cuddled Kevin, who remained heavily asleep under her arm, his tousled dark hair catching in his thick eyebrows. "Kevin said he liked it, so we put that on." She paused for a moment to drink her beer and Mariotta flinched and took a step forward when Joleta gestured with the rim of the bottle towards the sleeping child's mouth. "But he started screaming and it had barely started and I didn't know what to do. So I gave him some of my drink and it calmed him down. He got tipsy and then just fell asleep!" Joleta's laugh was like a cascade of notes from a mark tree, disorienting in its merriness.

Mariotta held her hands in her armpits, but she felt them quiver in time with the muscles of her neck and mouth. The anger was instant and cold, a primal and innate thing that almost frightened her with its force. "You did what?"

Joleta's blue eyes went round, and her cheeks grew red, so something of Mariotta's feeling must have been visible. She opened her mouth to explain, but Mariotta was already holding one shaking finger out at the end of an outstretched arm. "Go to your room."

"It's not my room-"

"Go to your room!"

"But it isn't-"

"Joleta I said get into that room right this instant, or I will call your brother and tell him every detail of this."

Joleta had untangled Kevin from her arm and tucked the duvet around her shoulders, but still she stayed on the couch, pouting up at Mariotta. "But you did it too. I'll tell him that if you say anything. I'll tell Sybilla and Richard."

Mariotta, fired up with the kind of adrenaline that knew only a single purpose, flung herself instantly on this threat. "Fine. Tell him what you like. You were the one who brought drugs into this house and that will be made amply clear to him. I will speak to my _own_ husband, thank you very much, and if you think he won't take my word over any lies you try to tell then you are gravely mistaken."

Joleta's golden brows lowered and she scowled and reached out for her beer bottle. Mariotta swiped it from the table and pointed again at the study. Dishevelled and deflated, Joleta stood with the duvet wrapped around her, and she paused to gather herself, arranging it with all the dignity of a diva in a fur coat before leaving the sitting room in silence.

Mariotta was on the couch before the study door had closed, cradling Kevin close and examining his breathing, his temperature, his colour. Muttering apologies and affection into his hair as her eyes misted up with tears, she rocked her son until he woke complaining, his voice hoarse and grouchy and his displeasure only rising as she peppered him with wet kisses and salt water. His breath smelled a little beery, and he did not want to drink the water and juice she got for him, but his tiredness remained such that she was able to win him over, and shortly had claimed the whole couch for herself, a mug of tea on the coffee table and the far less controversial _Robin Hood_ cartoon in the video player. It didn't matter that Kevin was asleep on her chest and she was the only one watching it. Mariotta smiled to herself at the spectacle, hummed along with the songs, and listened to her son's peaceful breathing.

It was the best part of an hour before Joleta emerged and quietly asked if she might have some fresh batteries for her Walkman. Contrite and now clothed in double denim and a colourful t-shirt, her hair brushed and face cleaned of make-up, she presented herself beside Mariotta like a penitent and spoke with a flourish of pleases and thank yous when instructed where to find the batteries.

In the afternoon, Joleta's brother picked her up, and Mariotta struggled through Kevin's hangover and her own. They went to the park, but the park was too bright. They tried to watch more films but Kevin got bored and the sound hurt Mariotta's head. Kevin played with his toys, but his co-ordination was sluggish and it made him angry. Mariotta tried to read but the page kept blurring before her eyes.

She threw herself on the phone when it rang at last, and the warm, familiar burr of her husband's voice reached her. Gathered in her arms at the kitchen counter, Kevin even mustered the energy to yell "PA!" down the phone.

"Hullo champ, how's it going?" Richard asked.

Mariotta moved the handset away from Kevin's reach and greeted Richard with relief. "Hi darling, it's so good to hear from you."

Richard laughed, and the sound of it nearly made Mariotta cry again, she was so tired. "Are you all right, Mari? One day looking after a teenager enough for now?"

"Richard don't even joke about it. It was a nightmare."

His tone instantly switched to one of concern, and Mariotta berated herself. "A nightmare? What happened? Do you need any help?"

She made herself chuckle, though it felt raw and dry in her throat. "No, no...It's fine. I just thought teenagers would be easier to entertain than toddlers."

"Oh darling. I'm sorry. You know it will happen to Kevin some day, too?" She could hear the breadth of his smile, imagine the creases of humour at his eyes. "Do you want me to see if we can get him sent back before it's too late?"

Perhaps, on this occasion, Richard Crawford was fully justified in his confusion when his wife burst into exhausted tears.

**Author's Note:**

> '"She killed my cat," said Sybilla dreamily. "I didn't tell you, Richard. And until Margaret Erskine stopped it, she was never alone with Kevin."' [DK, Book 3, ch. XIII].


End file.
